


Frostbite

by FestiveFerret



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Frostbite, Get Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Steve, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Pining Tony, Recovery, accidental love confession, care and comfort, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-02 22:58:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19451212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FestiveFerret/pseuds/FestiveFerret
Summary: They've found where Steve is being kept - hehasto be in this building - but JARVIS can't find a heat signature, and Tony knows what that means.





	Frostbite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DepressingGreenie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DepressingGreenie/gifts).



> For DepressingGreenie! I hope you like it (^_^).
> 
> Thank yous to my secret beta :-*

_"Steve!"_ Tony's screaming for him before his feet even hit the ground. He can hear the quinjet landing behind him but he doesn't wait for the rest of the team. Fifteen hours, Steve has been missing. They've finally found where he is, and it's going to be the last ten minutes that kill Tony.

Because they're either going to find him alive or -

Tony fires the gauntlets and slams through the back door of the old restaurant. There are dim emergency lights on, but nothing else. Broken tiles crack under Iron Man's heavy boots and the whole room hums. Tony lifts his hands, palms out, but the place seems empty. "J - any heat signatures?"

"None, sir. The building appears to be empty."

"But we traced him here. It said he was _here._ J, he has to be here somewhere."

JARVIS doesn't reply but Tony knows what no heat signature has to mean. Either Steve's tracer is still here and he's not - which means his kidnappers ripped it out of him and they have no way to find him - or -

"He's not dead," Tony mutters to himself. "I'm going to find him."

Tony starts at the west end and works his way across the restaurant floor. Clint and Nat are upstairs in the offices above, Tony can hear them through the comms, but he's mostly focused on what's ahead of him, on every square foot of the building that doesn't contain Steve Rogers.

It takes his throat aching for Tony to realize he's been saying Steve's name under his breath over and over. He _can't_ lose him, not like this, not all alone and thinking no one's coming to save him. Tony _can't_ lose Steve because he never told him. Never told him how he thinks about him when he goes to bed at night and when he wakes up in the morning, how he gets a little thrill just by being close to him, how he loves him. And now he's missed his chance.

Hot panic rushes through Tony's bloodstream and makes him flail around wildly for a moment, firing his repulsors pointlessly at the kitchen counters but that does nothing except create more damage, more noise. A broken cupboard door falls to the floor with a _thud_ and then the room falls silent once more. Well... not silent, just that low hum that vibrates through the whole restaurant.

Wait -

That hum… why would the building be humming? The main power is off, just emergency lighting, which means the ever pervasive electronic hum of 21st-century life shouldn't fill this space, but it is. Tony flips the faceplate up, then retracts the entire helmet. He turns slowly in place and the humming is louder on one side of the room. He follows it.

Through a doorway is a short hall with two large, grey, metal doors in it. Industrial freezers. Oh god. Tony puts one hand on each door and he can feel the hum through the gauntlets and into his palms. The emergency generator runs the low-level lighting and the freezers. It makes sense - the restaurant wouldn't want their food to go to waste if there was a power outage.

Tony pulls on the handle of the door closest to him and it swings open. It's empty - just a few bare racks and an old mop. He tries the other one, but it won't budge. His heart's in his throat now, desperate to find Steve but utterly terrified that he will, that he'll be on the other side of the door. 

"Please," Tony whispers, tugging again. When the door doesn't give at all, he bends and looks at the latch and horror steals his breath. It's been welded shut, and the temperature gauge next to it has been cranked as low as it goes.

"I found him!" Tony yells into the comm as he backs up and fires up his repulsors. "He's gotta be in here!" 

The others yell back their affirmative, but they're going to be a few minutes yet and Tony needs to get the door open, needs to see what's inside. He fires the repulsors at full blast and the beam starts to tear through the first layer of the metal door, around the latch. Another blast cuts through the second layer and Tony kicks out with one boot and the door swings in.

Oh god, he's too late.

Steve is there - Steve's body is there sprawled on the floor, half curled up in the fetal position. His skin is white and waxy and he's not moving. Tony takes an aborted step forward. "Ste-"

Natasha barrels past him and collapses to her knees next to Steve's body. She jams her hand down the side of the collar of his uniform and presses her face in next to his. Clint trots up beside Tony and stills.

Time stops for a very long time.

"He's still breathing," Natasha gasps, and Tony's there in a heartbeat. He scoops Steve up in his arms, the armour easily taking his weight, and hauls ass out of the freezer. 

Steve feels stiff and lifeless in Tony's hold. He's a dead weight, and though Natasha is sure he's breathing, Tony can't see it for himself, the way they're moving, and he can't waste the time to stop and check. He just has to trust her. He does, he really does, but this is the hardest trial his faith has been put through. He needs to see Steve's chest rise and fall on its own.

The quinjet is on the roof, so Tony carries Steve outside and then flies up while the spies take the stairs. Inside, Tony lays Steve gently on the padded, leather bench along the far wall and starts opening cupboards, hauling out everything he finds until he gets to a pile of blankets. Footsteps clatter on the hatch and then it's closing, Clint sliding into the pilot's seat and Natasha appearing at Tony's side. 

And - there it is. One tiny breath in, and, far too long after, one tiny breath out.

"We have to warm him up slowly," Nat says, "and focus on his core. He can heal from frostbite, but if his heart gets pumped full of cold blood, he could die."

"Oh fuck," Tony hisses out. His whole body feels hot in contrast to Steve's cold, flushed and tingly and ready to turn inside out with stress.

"Sit here," Natasha commands, tugging at Tony until he steps out of the armour. She presses him down on the bench at Steve's head, lifts it gently and has Tony shift underneath so Steve's head rests on his thigh. She throws another blanket over Steve then adds one that covers the top of his head and Tony's lap, tucked around Steve's face until it's all that's visible of him. His skin looks wrong, fake, like a doll, and his eyelashes are still covered in tiny snowflakes of frost. His lips are so pale they're almost indistinguishable from the rest of him and Tony wants to grab him and shake him and yell until he opens his damn eyes.

Instead, he cups the sides of Steve's face gently with his hands and wills his body heat to bleed into Steve's icy skin. Natasha kneels by the bench, pressed tightly against his side, and rests her hands over Steve's heart, doing the same. "We just have to get him to the hospital. He's a supersoldier, Tony, as long as he's alive, the serum will reverse any damage."

"We don't know that for sure." Tony's shaking now, but Steve's not. He's still.

**

Clint radios ahead and there's a stretcher covered in warming packs on the roof, waiting for them when they land. Tony puts the armour back on to carry Steve to the stretcher then steps out of it, leaving JARVIS to pack it back on the jet. Clint is going to take the jet back to the tower to pick up the rest of the team and bring them back to the hospital while Tony and Nat stay with Steve.

There's nothing that churns Tony's stomach more than seeing Captain America down. He has a mask over his face, tubes in his arms, and heat packs pressed tightly against his sides. Tony sits heavily in a chair on one side of him while Nat paces back and forth in front of the window. They've done "everything they can," and now it's the horrible wait while the serum stitches Steve back together.

Anyone else would have lost their feet, their hands. Anyone else would probably have brain damage. Anyone else would be very, very lucky to be alive at all.

But until Steve wakes up, Tony doesn't care about anyone else. He cares about seeing those baby blues blink open again. He cares about hearing his name on those lips again. He cares about a hint of blush flushing those wan cheeks pink, and he can't believe, won't believe, that everything's going to be okay until Steve tells him so himself.

**

It takes twenty-seven hours and thirty-two minutes for Steve to wake up. Tony doesn't know that until later though, not until JARVIS tells him. All he knows in the moment is that one second, he's flipping through the barrage of work emails he's been avoiding, trying to twist in the uncomfortable wooden chair in a way that doesn't make his spine whimper with pain, and then the next, Steve's looking at him.

Tony jumps to his feet. Natasha is back at the tower and Thor's downstairs getting coffee, so it's just him. "Steve?"

Steve's brow furrows, he looks almost afraid, and Tony sits back down, leaning in low and slow. "Hey, you're alright, buddy. It's me, Tony. You're safe. We got you out."

Steve's mouth opens a tiny bit then he winces, like it's really painful, and he closes it again. His lips are dry and cracked, despite the sheer volume of vaseline the nurses have been slathering on them, and Tony fumbles for his own water bottle and shoves a straw in it. He shuffles closer and Steve flinches away, almost imperceptibly, but it shatters Tony's heart, and the way Steve parts his lips for the straw to slide between them only barely stitches it back together.

Steve takes small sips, and it's only three or four before his mouth goes slack again and Tony leans back. "Steve?" he can't help asking again.

"W-where?" Steve croaks.

"Mercy General. We found you at the restaurant, in the freezer."

Steve is quiet for a moment. His eyes fall shut then shock open again. "Where -?"

"At the hos-"

"Tony?"

Tony leans closer. "Yeah, it's Tony."

Steve's brow furrows again. _"Where?"_ It's pointed, but Tony can't figure out what he's asking, if it's not "where am I?"

"You're at the hospital, Steve. You're going to be okay."

Steve's eyes fall shut again, and Tony breathes out. He's already on the phone to the tower when Thor comes back with two coffee cups. "He woke up," Tony tells all of them. "Just for a moment. He seems confused, but he could speak a bit and he drank some water."

"That's really good," Bruce says over the phone. "I'll come by a bit later. Let us know if he wakes up again."

Tony barely listens as the others keep talking, and eventually Thor takes the phone out of his hand and steps out of the room. They've been taking turns, trading out, so the tower is manned and the hospital room isn't overcrowded, but no one has asked Tony to join the rotation. They bring him food, and a change of clothes, but no one has asked him to leave, and he knows he'll never be able to tell them how grateful he is for that.

It's only a short hour before Steve opens his eyes again. This time, Tony doesn't speak, he just watches as Steve's eyes flick around the room. He's still twisted up with confusion, and Tony wonders if he can see all that well or if his vision is still cloudy. He hasn't tried to move, which is good, because the doctors have warned Tony that Steve should keep his arms and legs as still as possible for now. 

"Where's Tony?" Steve manages to rasp out this time.

"I'm right here." Tony moves closer, rests his hand gently on Steve's upper arm. "I'm here."

"They have him." Steve's eyes fall closed again and his face is screwed up with pain. "They have him in the other freezer. You have to - to get him - out -"

Tony's heart aches. "I'm okay, Steve. They don't have me." Tony leans forward to whisper into Steve's ear in case he can't hear him. "I'm okay. I'm okay. The whole team is okay. They don't have anyone."

Steve coughs roughly then falls asleep again.

**

It happens six more times. Each time, Steve is a little more lucid, able to talk a little more clearly, but his tension only ratchets up as he gets more control over himself with each waking. It isn't until he wakes up for the ninth time that he recognizes that Tony is really there with him.

"Tony?" 

It's something around four in the morning, and Tony has just managed to drop into a nice doze when Steve's scratchy voice rockets him awake again. "Steve?"

"You're okay?"

"I'm okay. I'm here."

"They had you," Steve breathes, eyes fixed on Tony's face.

"No. No, they didn't. They lied. They never had me."

"Oh." Steve sinks back into the cushions. This time, however, he doesn't immediately fall asleep again, and Tony shifts a little closer.

"Do you know where you are?"

Steve looks around. "Hospital?"

"Yup. Got it in one. How do you feel?"

"I -" Steve closes his mouth again, swallows. "Not great."

"You had really serious hypothermia. You're still recovering from the frostbite."

Steve twitches a little and Tony wonders if he's testing his fingers and toes. He winces with pain and lets out a slow sigh. "I thought they had you."

"I'm okay." Tony rests his hand on Steve's arm again, so he doesn't have to open his eyes again to know he's there. "Everyone's okay. They lied. It was only you they had and you're safe."

"Okay. Thank you." 

**

Three days layer, Steve is driving Tony nuts.

"I can hold it."

"No you can't." Tony works the straw through the foil hole into the juicebox. 

"I can." Steve's hand twitches up, and Tony pushes it back down.

"Stop it."

"I don't need you here waiting on me hand and foot. I'm fine."

"You have frostbite over, like, forty percent of your body, Steve. You're not 'fine' and if you hold the damn juicebox and fuck up all the healing tissue again, Nurse Ratched is going to kill me."

Steve sighs and settles back down on his pillows. He's in his own room at the tower, and a burly nurse with a killer Stare of Judgement comes by twice a day to check that everything's healing properly and help Steve with various nursely things that Tony's not thinking too hard about. The serum is so unknown and so terrifying that all the medical professionals are buzzing around him like moths to a porch light in August, trying to measure and test and track and predict. Tony hates it.

He wants to lock the door and wrap Steve in four hundred blankets, in front of the fireplace he had installed overnight while Steve was in the hospital, and never let him leave and never let anyone else in. He's aware that's slightly insane but the fantasy lets him sleep at night. On Steve's couch, because the penthouse is too far away and Steve won't move up to his guest room.

"I don't need all this fuss, Tony. I'm sure you've got lots of things to do. Clandestine fireplaces to order… that sort of thing."

"I don't know what you're talking about. That fireplace was always there."

Steve rolls his eyes but he also chuckles softly and opens his mouth for the straw. Tony holds the juice box until Steve has drained it then tosses it in the trash. 

Tony gets up and starts fussing around the room, more for something to do than because the room needs tidying. The nurses have been helping Steve with everything that isn't snacks and keeping him from flinging himself out of the window through sheer boredom. Tony has helped him to the bathroom several times, leaning him against the sink and then standing outside until Steve clears his throat and calls his name. Beyond that, there isn't much for him to do. 

But they've watched all of Netflix. Twice. Listened to podcasts, played cards - awkwardly because Steve can barely use his hands, and Tony was thinking about bringing DUM-E up to help but the cons of that definitely outweigh the pros - and attempted a rather harrowing, late night game of Never Have I Ever that led to the deepest blush Tony had ever seen on a Brooklynite and Tony learning things about the Howling Commandos he isn't sure he wants to know but can't stop thinking about.

Tony is running out of ways to entertain Steve, and Steve knows it.

"Hey, Tony?"

Tony tosses a bandage wrapper in the trash. "Mhm?"

"Don't say no without thinking about it first."

Tony turns back towards Steve with an eyebrow raised. "What?"

"Can you help me go outside? Just to the balcony!" Steve employs his most intense puppy dog eyes.

Tony eyes the distance to the balcony. 

"I'll use the wheelchair?" Steve offers. "No fuss. I'm just - I feel… stale." His nose curls. Tony knows there have been sponge baths, but it's not like he can't smell the staleness for himself. He isn't exactly a spring daisy himself, opting for infrequent showers and clothing changes while the nurses are here, over leaving Steve alone.

Even though Tony has been saying no to Steve near constantly over the last few days, and feels pretty confident in his ability to keep doing so, this isn't the sort of thing he has any hope of standing up to, especially not with the big, blue eyes Steve is putting to full effect, fluttering his eyelashes up at Tony. "Fine. But if you start to get sore, _anywhere,_ you're going back to bed."

"Agreed."

Steve is practically bouncing with enthusiasm as Tony helps him slide into the wheelchair. It was shoved into the corner of the room and never used, since Steve hates it and he doesn't really have anywhere to go besides the bathroom, which is an en suite, so close it would be silly to spend a few minutes getting Steve settled in the chair, only to travel three feet and pull him out again. Now, though, it's earning its keep, and true to his word, Steve tucks his feet up on the rests, drops his hands to his lap, and doesn't try and back seat drive as Tony steers him out of the bedroom.

Tony wheels Steve to the big sliding doors at the back of the living room then steps outside on his own. He arranges a chaise lounge with pillows, adding one to prop up Steve's injured feet and setting the big foam one that goes under his hands next to the chaise. He tugs the chair up and over the rails for the sliding door, wincing at the rattle, then steadies under Steve's arm as he slides from the chair to the chaise. 

Steve settles back on the cushion, arranging his wrists over the lap cushion so they don't press anywhere, then he leans back and closes his eyes with a soft smile on his face. 

The sun hits his face, adding gold hues to skin that had looked pale and bruised indoors. It's the first time he's looked truly thawed since Tony found him, and it makes Tony's heart skip two beats and then settle into a rhythm that feels natural and real, instead of panicked and on edge. 

Tony takes the chance to look at Steve, watching him bask in the sun, hair twisted and whipped by the ninety-floors-up wind. Tony has the cover of making sure he's alright, if Steve catches him staring.

He's beautiful. Tony has always thought he was beautiful, but the closer he gets, the more beautiful Steve becomes. The love Tony feels for him had never felt like a burden until he thought he was going to lose him, and then suddenly, Tony was crumpling under the weight of it. He should tell him again now, he knows. That fear that Steve would die without ever knowing is easily accessible, easily remembered, it hit him like a Mack truck in that moment at the restaurant, but he still can't bring himself to open his mouth and say it.

Steve's still healing; it doesn't seem fair. 

Or Tony's afraid. He can admit that. It's easy to make promises when Steve is clutching to life that he'll tell him, that he'll make sure he never feels the weight of his unsaid love again, but in the light of day, with Steve smiling at him and letting him hover, and only complaining a little when Tony tries to hand feed him, the words die on his tongue. What if Steve can't handle it? What if he's so embarrassed, or worse, so disgusted, that he doesn't want to see Tony anymore? Steve's not in a place to take care of himself, right now, so it's not fair. Tony is the one who wants to be here. If he upsets Steve and has to go, someone else will have to take his place, or who knows what kind of dangerous shit Steve will get up to unsupervised. Steve is the definition of "Against Medical Advice" and Tony's the only member of the team who's not above taping Steve to his bed if need be.

Not like _that._

Not that he'd be opposed…

"Tony?"

"Hmm?" Tony snaps his meandering attention to Steve who still has eyes closed, smiling softly. "Yes?"

"Thank you." Steve's smile deepens, and Tony grins too, falling backwards onto the lawn chair next to Steve's chaise.

"Of course."

**

Tony is putting down a bag of groceries when he hears a soft noise of frustration from the bedroom. He trots down the hall and skids through the door to find Steve sitting up in bed with his shirt half off, pulled up over his chest but not over his head, leaving Steve trapped with his arms up in the air, not able to get a grip on the collar of the shirt with the wraps on his hands. 

"Help!" Steve squeaks, and Tony bursts out laughing, even as he crosses the room and grabs the hem of the shirt. He pulls, and Steve's head pops free, hair going wild from static.

Tony tosses the shirt aside. "You okay?" He can't stop the giggles that have been undammed.

Steve huffs and flops backwards onto his pillows. "I'm okay. I guess I shouldn't have tried that on my own. I won't tell you how long I've been fighting with that damn thing."

Tony sits on the edge of Steve's bed and shakes his head fondly at him. Tony's hand is acting entirely of its own accord when it reaches out and brushes Steve's wild hair back into place. Steve's gaze cuts to him, and it's soft and curious, burrowing into Tony's as if looking for answers to some unasked question.

Tony clears his throat. "New shirt?" The million acres of smooth skin - finally looking pink and healthy instead of grey and brittle - stretched over hard muscle just inches from Tony's hand isn't help him keep whatever crumb of cool he has left these days.

"Yes please."

Tony opens drawers at random, looking for a fresh t-shirt, and Steve doesn't bother telling him where to find it, presumably figuring he'll get there eventually by the process of elimination. And it's a kind of casual trust that makes Tony's hands tingle and his heart stutter. Of course, not everyone keeps trinkets and mementos and private fun time supplies in their dresser drawers - so maybe Steve has nothing to hide anyway, but most people still don't like their things being riffled through so freely, either just in case or just because, so it's soft and sweet and comfortable that Steve just pokes at his tablet with his one working finger and waits, unbothered, for Tony to unearth a new shirt.

When Tony brings it back to the bed, holds it out, and eases it over Steve's arms and head before smoothing it into place, there are words curling to life on his tongue, like whorls of smoke. They swirl against the back of his teeth and threaten to leak out between the gaps, but Tony swallows them back down. They want to be said; they're going to have to wait.

Instead, he asks, "What do you want for lunch?" and the moment is gone.

**

Tony's startled out of sleep by what his brain tells him is DUM-E in the penthouse. It takes him three confused heartbeats to realize that one: he's not in the penthouse, and two: it's not DUM-E that woke him. "Steve!" Tony jumps to his feet and rockets across the room to catch Steve around the waist. He's shuffled out on tender, healing feet to wobble uncertainly in the doorway. "What are you doing?"

Steve stares down at Tony like he's only half shifted into reality, and Tony grips his waist tightly, taking as much of his weight as he can. "Tony -"

"Are you okay?" Tony asks softly. And they're standing so close. And he's so - 

Steve.

"They told me you were in the other freezer," Steve whispers, voice rough like he's been screaming for hours. "And I couldn't get out. Couldn't get to you." He pauses, sucks in a rattling breath. "When I couldn't feel my legs anymore… I knew you couldn't have survived that. Not if yours was as cold as mine. I knew…"

Tony grips him harder, pulls him close and breathes out hard so they're sharing air. "They _never_ had me Steve. Never. It was a lie. I'm safe. You're safe."

"I know," Steve says quietly, but he's not moving away. "I know."

"Come back to bed." Tony shifts around him, spinning them gently until his back is to the bedroom and he can start drawing Steve towards it. Steve goes easily, drooping eyes fixed on Tony. He settles back into bed with his feet propped up on pillows and two heavy blankets layered on top of him. He's asleep almost instantly, and Tony wonders if he was ever really awake. Instead of going back out to the couch, Tony curls up on the big armchair in the corner, and in the morning, neither of them talks about it.

**

Steve's feet heal first, to the nurses' surprise. It's a blessing and a curse. A blessing because Steve can move around on his own now, take himself to the bathroom, get out of bed without the full body wince of pain, and stand by the window, watching the world go by. 

A curse because it's much harder now for Tony to keep him from using his still-damaged hands.

"Put that down."

Steve sighs. "I'm just tidying up, Tony. It doesn't hurt."

"Well, good. Because if it hurt, you'd have already gone too far. For now, I have to settle for stopping you from going too far."

The sigh turns into a grumble and Steve's shoulders tense. "I can't just sit around doing nothing forever!"

"It's not for forever! It's until you heal, you idiot. And the more you try and do the damn dishes -" Tony tugs the dirty plate out of Steve's weak grip "- the farther away that will be!"

Tony turns away, wondering where he can hide the dish that Steve won't find it, as if that's a logical solution instead of just washing it himself, and Steve's hand darts out and tries to grab his sleeve. On pure instinct, Tony spins and grabs Steve's forearm, holding his hand out and away where it can't be hurt trying to grip and grab. It leaves them close together - so close - and Tony's head spins, as if all the oxygen is being sucked into Steve and leaving Tony little to get by on. 

Steve huffs and tugs his arm back. "Why are you even doing this?" he growls.

And that's _it._ Tony snaps. He's poured his all into keeping Steve in one piece over the last few weeks and he can't _believe_ that Steve wouldn't understand why. " _Because someone has to._ You keep fighting this, but you're in real danger if you don't take care of yourself, and I'm not about to let the man I love be stupid enough to take what should be a temporary injury and turn it into a permanant one because he's too much of an idiot to just _take it easy for the next few weeks._ I didn't drag you out of that damn freezer just so you could -"

Steve cuts him off by shifting bodily into Tony's space, so close that Tony can feel every one of the hairs on his body standing up from the proximity. Steve's bizarrely grinning now, like a madman, and he takes his gauze-wrapped hands and cups Tony face, one curled gently around each cheek, and then he kisses him. 

It's exactly like Tony had imagined a thousand times and nothing like it.

Steve is warm and soft and so gentle, Tony leans in a bit more to find more contact, to make sure it's real, and Steve opens for him, drawing Tony closer, parting his lips, inviting him to taste. Steve tastes like raspberry yogurt from breakfast - tart and sweet. Tony almost loses his balance, almost falls right into him, but Steve can't take any weight on his hands, so Tony backs off when he feels himself wobble forward.

"I love you," Steve says, still grinning, like it's the easiest thing in the world to say. And how has Tony been trying to say those words for almost eighteen months and now Steve can just throw them out casually like that, in the middle of an argument, and set every one of Tony's nerves vibrating with new life?

"What?" Because he's imagined this day often enough that maybe it's all a hallucination.

"I love you," Steve says again, with even more conviction. "Tony, I love you."

"Well shit." Tony slaps a hand over his mouth and then drags it down to his chin. He always thought he'd be the first to say it. "I love you, too." _Fuck,_ that feels good. Why on earth did he wait this long?

"I know," Steve says, laughing, and Tony narrows his eyes at him.

 _"How?"_

Steve kisses him again, short and chaste, like they're an old married couple. "Because you just called me 'the man I love.'"

"I what -?" Tony rewinds the conversation in his head. _Because I'm not about to let the man I love -_ "Oh. Well." Humiliation, shock, confusion and pure affection are battling it out to see who gets to heat his cheeks the most. "Oh."

"It's good, right?" There's a tiny bit of hesitation in Steve's voice, and Tony erases it with a press of his lips.

"So good. The best. Best idea I've ever had entirely not on purpose. I love you. You love me. Perfect. Amazing." He kisses him again because apparently that's a thing he gets to do now, and if it is, he's going to take advantage of it at every opportunity. 

"Well, in that case…" Steve's smile has shifted into a smirk, and Tony braces himself. "You should know that I'm not fully recovered yet."

Tony narrows his eyes. This is the first time Steve has done anything but try and convince Tony that he's perfectly fine.

"Still… you know, get the chills." Steve tugs Tony a little closer. "Can't quite regulate my body temperature on my own…"

"I don't exactly recall the doctor saying that would be a side effect," Tony drawls, but he lets Steve shuffle him off towards his bedroom, arms around Tony's waist, Tony's hands clutching each of Steve's elbows. 

"It is. I'm cold all the time. Cold right now. My bed is cold alone at night, my chair is cold during the day. Everything is. One. Big. Shiver." Steve punctuates his words with soft kisses to the end of Tony's nose.

"Well," Tony says, something huge and vibrant and terrifying and electric thrumming to life deep within his chest, "let's see what we can do about getting you warmed up."


End file.
